


Oh dear

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [55]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Cave-In, Character Death, Child Death, Mental Coercion, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:53:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22145980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Series: DS Extras [55]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/688443
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. Blindsided

The hounds had gotten to her.

The shadows lapped at his feet, swirling smoke as he peered down, neutral scowl in place as he gingerly poked the corpse with his foot.

Rigor mortis hasn't set in yet, too soon for that, and the blood slid off his shoes, shadow absorbing the drops and seeping crimson black stains into the dry grass. A few of the hounds whimpered, whined as they watched him, tails wagging and blood dripping from their jaws, near wiggling with barely contained excitement, energy. 

They had been tearing into the body when he had finally made his move, pulled out of the shadows of trees and manifested in the pale morning light. Interrupting their feast was rather crude, but he wanted to have a look.

Not as if Maxwell has not seen many corpses in his time, here and now, but death would always be intriguing enough. Just out of his reach, and the pawns only get the briefest of tastes, a whisper here or there.

She had a touchstone tied to her, marking her down to this world. In the morning it would drag her back with cracks of lightning and a shuddering nausea, but any side effects should pass in a few hours.

Wendy was not to be dead for long.

He tipped his head, eyed the pale flower still clutched in her hands, soaking and damp now with blood. Abigail had not been awake enough to answer her sisters pleas for help.

After a moment of thought, shadows sliding about his feet, withering under his suit jacket and coddling about his chest, Their low whispers fleeting and hushed, Maxwell leaned down and gently brushed those small limp hands open, scooping the flower up into his own grasp.

Abigail whispered, quiet exhales, aware and yet blinded, and for a moment he considered the pale bloom in his gloves, the shadow smoke rising to slide over the closed petals. 

All he had to do was a quick clawing of his fingers, a brief afterthought, and the leftover spirit would be dispelled. Very simple, very complicated, and the binding was an opposite to the shadows curious touches, brushing the petals, staining ink and making those fine lined tethers twitch, shiver. The whispers rose up to him a bit weaker but all the same; Abigail, so much so like Wendy, bargained for her sister.

The leftover pale remains of the girl in his grasp was tied down, bound and unable to freely go as she wished, but all she could think of was her meddlesome sibling. 

Maxwell frowned, lips pulled up in the briefest of a disappointed snarl, and dropped the bloom onto the grass and blood.

Ghosts cannot make such decisions in good faith. The dead had no rights.

There was a brief pressure, shadows curling in reaction enough to make Maxwell glance to his side, and one of the hounds had crawled over, tongue lolling out, dragging its back feet as its tail wagged back and forth in playful anticipation. It had pressed its fleshy nose to his hand, panting as it looked up at him, wiggling as it was graced with his gaze, and if that tail moved any faster the creature may just up and fly away.

Something in him wanted to reach out, something deep and too far away, but the shadows whispered and coiled and Maxwell flicked his hand dismissively, making the beast pin its ears back and cower away from him with a low whimper.

Under one of the nearby trees the packs Varg panted, watching him, careful cruel eyes as she coughed out a bark of some sort, tongue flopping from her massive jaws. Unlike the rest of the brood, she was patient.

And wise enough to not interrupt. Her call made the others dip low to the ground, tails stilling and ears flat to their skulls.

Respectful, loyal things. Maxwell could give them that, and vaguely appreciate their efforts, but it was as he always expected of them. Deviation from his norm was met with punishment.

The hound that had dared bother him, whites of its eyes blown and hackles up, was only taking darting looks to him now, flattening itself to the grass and dust. Whatever that had previously encouraged it was now gone.

The shadows crooned, coiling about his neck, whispering cooed words to his ears, lazy smoke trailing up from his feet, but he dismissed Them in much the same way, gaze turning back to the corpse.

Punishing a mutt led nowhere and gave nothing; no satisfaction was ever gained by their cries, and he knew that from experience.

The blood flow had stopped far earlier, especially after getting ripped open enough to splatter it everywhere. Many of the hounds still had some on their muzzles, strips of flesh stuck to their jaws, yet even as hungry as they were the beasts kept still, their Varg watching over them.

Patience was key, though most creatures here had little of that in them.

Squatting down in one motion, the coils of shadow whispering thin and leering, brushing up and down his back, Maxwell stared at the small corpse in completely blank thought.

The hounds had only torn into her once she was dead, but not due to some semblance of ethics in their puny minds. No, these wolves have eaten many pawn alive and screaming; Wendy had just been lucky this time around.

The Varg had been the one to grab her, tearing through the grass with huge huffing breathes, panting and flinging slobber in massive leaps, and Maxwell had watched in the shadows as the girl tried to run.

A last desperate scream for Abigail to awake, and then the beast had wrapped jaws about such a small frame and lifted up, crunched down before shaking side to side, sharp broken movements, instincts.

The air had been knocked out her lungs by the first swing, and then the second had snapped her neck. Abigail had whimpered a sleepy cry as if trapped in a nightmare, still held tight in small hands, and Wendy had died with no fanfare.

And Maxwell had watched, arms crossed and face impassive, listened right as that little heart stopped its ticking, the firing of nerves broken in one moment. The hounds snapping at limbs and tugging fabric clothing were finally given their successful hunt, and ripped the corpse open with hunger driven ferocity.

Such a small meal would not be enough for them, of course. Another pawn was to end up in their jaws later today, perhaps this evening. It would all depend on how good the Varg was at tracking.

Not even an ounce of hesitance shook him as Maxwell reached out, gently brushed the hair off of the girls slack face. Pale eyes, still open, empty and sunken in.

Malnutrition would had gotten to her had the hounds not, and that was if he did not consider who Wendy was. If she was to die, it was on her terms and she was always so well prepared.

The girl may not know it, but Abigail cried for the loss each and every time. A bittersweet thing, reunion of the dead and long gone.

And so brief as well. He'd not allow more than a few seconds, not anymore. Too many forgotten ghosts haunted the graveyards now, no matter how many the shadows would gobble up when he let Them.

A faint foggy thing caught him, brushing inside his chest, and Maxwell reached out and delicately closed the girls eyes, soft and ever so careful.

If he avoided looking to the blood and gore of the rest of her, perhaps he could near imagine her as peaceful.

Something else, faded away, forgotten but still lingering in his mind, and she was older than he remembered her but Wendy had been so much smaller once. Small and wobbling on toddler legs, sisters hand in hand and so afraid, uneasy as they looked up at that tall uncle of theirs, so long ago.

The shadows suddenly snarled, a sharp, piercingly silent sound, and Maxwell jerked his arm back, frowning as he rose back up to a stand. The hounds watched him, wide eyed and still as the smoke and shadows thickened, crooned gibberish loud and lovely, and with that Maxwell snapped his fingers, a signal.

The wolves were on their feast in mere moments, devouring and tearing into every single piece they could wrap their jaws on. Flesh and blood, barks and snarls and whimpers as they argued amongst themselves, and their Varg panted quietly, lazed out and letting her pack feed as she watched him.

Maxwell eyed her back, once more that emotionless scowl on his face, and as the soft remains were ravaged and the sobbing flower was kicked and smashed by uncaring paws he turned away, dismissed the scene as abruptly as when he had first caught interest earlier.

The shadows coiled, heaved thick smoke and smog, and pulled him back down, erasing the evidence of his manifestation.

Down below, a man gasped as feeling came back, senses and shock and curdling faint emotion, memory. The shadows coiled and cooed and soothed, tightening their bands and embracing Their distressed King, warbling poems and songs and picture promises, easing the idea through malleable mortal mind.

But even with that the realization, thought - _she was dead, right in front of him, why didn't he prevent it from happening, why did he only **watch**_ \- it exploded into wracking sobs and shudders and horrible aching in his chest, overwhelming, too much too soon too fast, and-

_His nieces had been so small, and they still were, even now, small, eyes filled with wonder and curiosity for the world, and they were still learning to talk, to ask questions, and William had loved them all the same._

_He couldn't visit long, not with the shows, the planning, the travel, and their fathers judgemental eyes, but William had laughed and showed them a clumsy trick or two, disappearing coins found in the wrong places, wrong pulled cards and dropping the colorful rope of tied fabrics. To his surprise the two loved even his pitiful attempts at magic, not even realizing his mistakes with the simple act._

_Funny, how seeing their happy little faces had not made his fumbled display a failure. Children were so much easier to dazzle and play with; they did not judge._

-and Maxwell pleaded for Them to _make it stop._

The shadows obliged willingly, curling about Their ever so helpful King, so distressed King. Only a brief moment, hauntingly soothing coos and whispers and leers, and then just like that, a sharp snapping tug at the back of the mind, pulled through and out the chest from the spine, and Their King went limp in Their hold, blank canvas for that mind numbing moment They gave in blessing.

When he stirred again, eternity passing and yet only the briefest of half seconds, it was with tear trails on the face and hands clawed into Their comforting Throne.

But no more distress, no more unwanted reaction. Memory served, but was met with an empty face.

Why did he care about this again? The girl was dead, ripped apart by his most favored of pets, her near peaceful, blood specked face floating in the forefront of his mind, and as such dismissed without any more thought.

Maxwell could care less about such things, and They whispered and hushed and sang deep in the dark, so very pleased with Their ever faithful, ever loyal King.


	2. Dangerous days

The caverns had shaken, trembled in an earthly rage that twisted and turned gravity to its own unknown whims, and down had fallen rocks and boulders and dust and age old fossils, crushing bulbs of light and snapping fungal trees, a multicolor of spores and burst caps overtaken by upflung dirt and gravel.

The tunnel was a long one, to lead to a cavern and then ever deeper, and the cave in, no matter its size, could not fill in the entire system by itself. This did not mean, however, that it had missed its mark.

Wendy lay where she had fallen, staring up to the dark endlessness of the ceiling, and her dropped lantern hummed quietly, the flower light bulbs keeping a clean circle of light all about her, protecting her even in all its uselessness now. 

Abigail floated above, circling, and whisper wailed in despair as the dust settled and blood started to pool in the gravel.

Wendy had not anticipated the quake, nor the massive boulders shaken loose. Summer had ended, the giant above was asleep, and now only natural trembles took these caverns. Perhaps the recent displeasure of the antlion had weakened the walls, just enough for a lone shiver to dislodge the dangers above.

It did not quite matter, not really. Wendy did not think it important anymore.

There was a curious lack of sense, of feeling, a lack of anything really that centered her lower spine. She could still breath, soft and not wanting to cough on the flung up dust and ashen powders of these old caverns, but though her ribcage and chest remained unaffected the damage had been done. No pain to grace her, yet Wendy could not feel her legs.

Abigail roamed above her, whisper thin and soft wails, ghostly distress as her glow brightened and dimmed in her helplessness.

Wendy watched her sister, silent for a few moments, still just taking soft breathes. Perhaps she was in shock, she pondered, and blinking slow she finally voiced her awareness.

"Calm yourself, Abigail. It will be over soon."

Her sisters incorporeal form wavered, arms and fists and wide eyed face before softening back into pure light, a distressed whisper shouting of words, layered and echoed and near silent.

Wendy blinked again, gaze sliding to the eternal darkness of the caverns ceilings, breathing in a little deeper for a mere moment before going back to short, slow breathes. Her chest may not ache, but there was pressure where there should be none.

It was getting harder to breath. 

A brief glance showed rock, boulders piled high about her form, and while none had the decency to crush her chest in there was a certain amount of leaning and weight in an undesirable fashion. If she had not been bleeding, perhaps it would have suffocated her first.

The cave in had knocked her balance out from under her, tripping and vaguely wondering if it was to be down the sheer cliffside with her, before the rocks had fallen. Bruising was already on her shoulders, her sides from where she had been glanced, but the crumbling overhead had thrown her head over heels until it had pinned her in its final act.

Pinned and crushed and torn, it seemed. A twitch of her fingers told her they were still there, free from a rocky prison, and the wet sticky heat told her that her blood spread fast and thin.

As her sister circled and whimpered above her, oozing whispers and cries, Wendy closed her eyes and waited.

She did not know how much time passed, did not count the ticking thump of her heart nor her beating pulse in her ears, only the faint hush as Abigail slowed, as the cave dust settled. 

If she listened hard enough, she could almost hear the wails of all those befallen in these dark caverns before her. Their skeletons buried and entrenched deep, out of sight, out of mind.

Then a new sound, not the soft hum of lantern nor Abigail's soft lilting whispers, nor the settling of thousands upon thousands of tons of cave dirt and soil and rock and boulder.

No, only footsteps. A shallow breath graced her lungs, and Wendy could feel the strength seeping out of her, as it has done so many times before. Slower deaths were always so unworthwhile, and if only she had a razor on her to speed it along.

"...Oh dear."

The voice echoed, dull and quietly exhaled as those footsteps paused, before hurrying along now, sweeping to a stop before her fallen form. Wendy did not open her eyes, did not greet her tragedies witness; coming from him, it was somehow even less meaningful.

More sound, sliding and low thumps as a backpack was removed, as breath exhaled from shaky old lungs, as even shakier old hands hesitated above her, and Wendy squinted her eyes open with just the barest of efforts to see the worried frown of her uncle hovering above her.

"You've gotten yourself into quite the situation, dear."

Wendy closed her eyes, her next inhale shaky and near flagging into a cough that she shrugged off, pushed away, wheezing as the pressure pushed down and made the little air she kept taking worth even less effort. The soft glow of her sister hovered above the both of them, wide eyed and silent, waiting.

"I...did not expect to...see you here...uncle…" 

Every breath took more effort, every word, and her lungs rattled in her throat, fighting the sense of gasping, fighting the flutter of her heart, only embracing the cold numbness of her pinned body, only letting the silent emptiness keep her anchored. Wendy would not let herself panic in front of her uncle, never.

"You shouldn't be down here alone, niece. I can handle myself; it seems you cannot."

The choice of words fumbled something sparked hot and sharp in her chest, but her shallow breath knocked it loose, out of the way. She did not have the air to argue and all Abigail did was warble a soft murmur of hushed silence, slowly drifting in shaky circles.

Just the sound of movement, fabric and that old muffled cracking of bones and limbs, not familiar enough, it never will be if Wendy could help it, and then the barest of brushing touch that made her curl her hands into fists and shakily gasp in a breath, face briefly curling into a snarl as her words exhaled loud and abruptly.

"Don't touch me…!"

It was sharp enough for him to jerk away, Abigail glowing and wailing loud and silent in reaction, and Wendy forced her eyes half open, that snarl sliding from her face as she shuddered in more air, eyeing her uncles wrinkled old face.

Drawn down, serious and stiff, yet the barest of glimmering in his dull pitch black eyes.

He pulled away, curled his hands in his lap as he sat by her, and did not reach for her again.

The exhale from her was heavy, draining, pulling air out of her and making the next shallow gasp almost too loud in the silence of the caves, and Wendy couldn't stop her face from twitching, expression twisting to almost pain as she continued breathing. 

It was numb, and empty, a void where there usually was none, and the pressure only increased itself with each minute.

Her fingers itched at the dusty pebbled ground, wishing for a razor blade or even spear, hatchet, conveniently hungry hound. Wendy did not glorify slow dragging death; left too much time to think, and to suffer.

Death was more than suffering, as Abigail whispered and hummed above her, patient and yet softly crying invisible tears, and sadism was not of any interest to her.

Her uncle, however, was a different story. Having him here, witness to her slow death, a silent judgement she could feel from his cursed eyes, it sent shudders of revulsion through her, hands curling into fists once more.

"Go…" gagging in a breath, gasping as the air pulled from her lungs and struggled to return, Wendy spat out the word with what was left of her strength. "...away!"

It was the last of her, wheezing as that pressure crushed tenfold, as the numbness lapped at her vision. Her hands and shirt were soaked in blood now.

Wendy felt cold.

For a moment all she could hear was Abigails whispers, humming, and she had no more strength to keep her eyes open, only whistle in shallow gasps of air, fast, hardly enough, certainly not enough.

It was getting harder to concentrate, to think of anything, anything at all. Any sound outside of Abigail's whisper loud hushes was muffled, absent almost, a blank space she could not see nor hear, and even with her sister here with her Wendy suddenly felt very alone in the darkness of her eyelids.

She felt dizzy even as still as she was being, dizzy and cold and a dawning confusion, and she couldn't move, not her legs, not anything but shallow gasps as Wendy tried to recognize what was going on.

A more aware part of her whispered low, _you are dying_ , but it was only her heart and pulse in her ears and her sister mumbling next to her, gibberish and nonsensical, and Wendy suddenly realized that Abigail was _here_.

She didn't process this, didn't recognize that there had been a _where_ or even a _why_ , only that she was feeling awful and faint and her sister was here beside her.

She tried to talk, sound her sisters name out, but instead something else bubbled up and Wendy choked on warm iron, coughing as it rose up her throat like bile. There was enough force to squeeze her eyes open into a squint, dizzy smears of color and glow, but for a moment she caught sight of, of pale blonde and wide eyes and familiar face, and her sister was _here_ -!

"A-abigail…" 

Swallowing was hard, breathing was hard, everything was fading numb and dizzy and she couldn't see anything, but Wendy ran on something besides strength at this point. She tried to raise her hand, reach out to where she had seen her sister, where was she? Where was Abigail, why was there emptiness, where-

"...It's alright, Wendy, she's right here."

There was faint pressure to her wrist, guiding, before something both cold and warm and pins and needles and familiar - _her sister_ \- wrapped fingers around her own and Wendy could let out a gargled exhale. There was something bubbling in her chest, deep in her lungs and rising up to fill her mouth, warm that leaked from the corners of her lips, and her face twitched as Wendy stared sightlessly up, holding her sisters hand.

Just barely something else, familiar, rose up as well, leaked into her mind even as she was starting to drown, and her voice was unsteady and whisper thin, wheezed, but she had to get the words out as she twitched, unable to see.

"Un...cle...Will..iam..?"

Everything was misty and smeared into a mess of colors, but her sister was here and that voice was familiar, and silence met her as she started to tremble, cold shivers up and down and filling her too hot, too full chest, each breath growing shorter, wheezing and numbing with the faintest of unknown, almost pain. 

Jumbled memory, thoughts and colors and impressions flooded her conciousness, wheezing and gargling around the iron pennies somehow stuck up in her mouth, Abigail almost swallowed one once, Wendy had been scolded for finding it in the first place and then playing with it, and then that thought swished away as something like a hand brushed her forehead, tucked her hair behind her ear gently.

"...Yes, Wendy. I'm here."

A choked sound exhaled from her throat, Wendy losing the strength to control her blurry sight, a last blink before staring up into glowing darkness and flickering smoke, but a faint forgotten thing caught her and with nothing to help it Wendy burst into bubbling giggles, blood, certainly blood oozing from her mouth.

The thought, of the cave in, the glancing boulders doing more damage than she had thought, bounced through her mind before going lost once more, disappearing in the rise of other, far long ago impressions.

"W...why…here…?"

Her voice bubbled in confusion, gagging at the funny hot pennies and squeezing her sisters hand as tight as she could as her lungs convulsed, as pressure flattened and almost blacked out her thoughts before she gasped in another sliver thin breath.

Before anything could be answered she tried to move her other arm, somehow all floppy and weak but half waved in a vague direction, getting her scrambling thoughts to make a coherent sentence, voice.

"W..where..?"

Her sister was here, was always here, and her, her uncle? He was here? He's never been here before, but he...he was now? 

Tall, funny Uncle William was here in the darkness, along with her sister? 

_Why_ floated through her mind for a mere moment before dissipating, and Wendy's face wobbled into something nearer to a choked sob, reaching out because she held her sisters hand cause her sister was here and now she wanted to hold her Uncle's hand cause _he_ was here, and, and he was never _here_.

She, she remembered he made her sister laugh, cause he had dropped the deck of cards, fumbled and said "oopsie" in a funny sounding voice, and kept having to push up his glasses cause they kept falling off his long nose. Her sister had giggled, and both of them had helped pick all the cards up, oooing and aweing at the pretty colored cards, 'Jester' and 'Ace' and 'Queen' and 'King', Uncle William told them, pointing each out with his gloved hands, and even though he had been so tall and thin and kind of scary eyed now Wendy and her sister weren't so afraid of him no more.

_That happened so long ago_ … her sister whispered to her, squeezing her hand, and Wendy reached out.

Something met her, warm and gloved, and a much larger, thinner hand held her own gently, carefully. 

Wendy gulped, tried wheezing again, gasping as nothing came of it, as her chest caved and everything became blurry smears of dark, feeling a rumble, a wave, rising above, too far up to see clear any longer, her sister holding one hand and her uncle holding the other.

And she smiled.

It was near silent now, Abigail having hushed still, quiet at that last breath.

Maxwell breathed slow, taking it steady, and his glove was now stained with blood but that didn't really matter, did it?

After a few moments one of the lanterns clicked off, went dark, now only his own buzzing near silent with clear light. 

The spectral glow was starting to fade.

Maxwell met the ghost girls eye, her form fluid and vapor, arms and legs and clothing and messy hair, wilted flower, wide eyes, too wide. Her small hand still held tight to her sisters, before Abigail blinked slow, heavy, looking away as she, too, faded away.

The pale flower left in her sisters hand was silent. Waiting, patient or asleep, he didn't know.

It wasn't his place to know.

A last look, over the body - she had died with her eyes open, as usual - and Maxwell gently passed a hand over his nieces still face, easing the blind dead sight into sleep. The rocks had crushed the life out of her.

It would have been slower, had he not been here. His presence had incidentally made her use that strength that usually kept her among the living, and Maxwell did not know what he should feel about that.

On one hand, he had distressed her near final moments enough to speed her coming death.

In the other...well, Maxwell had no business to think on it. Death was not pretty here, and never will be.

She will be back, up in the effigies upstairs, at the main base camp. She'll be nauseous, dizzy, forgetful of what had happened and mildly cranky, as always. One of the others, either Higgsbury or the old crone, will force a needle of horrible rot into her veins to "cure away" the after effects.

It may do what it was designed to, but Maxwell had his own opinions on the booster shots. Nasty things.

Delicately untangling his hand from the small grasp, limp now, Maxwell slowly got back to his feet, spine aching and cracking as he straightened up with a low, silent groan. With one hand going to ease the middle of his spine, or as best as he could reach it, Maxwell took the bowing moment to scoop up the blood stained flower. 

It wasn't right to desecrate a grave, but it wouldn't sit right with him to leave her here. And, if Wendy remembered he had been down here to begin with, it would be best to just hand over her sister instead of letting the girl risk herself again to find Abigail. 

Careful with how he handled the fragile bloom, and with as much respect as he could afford, Maxwell pocketed the spellbound flower, hidden away in his suit jacket. Well away from bottled nightmare fuel and bundled dark flowers, and even farther from the Codex, but she was far safer on his person than in any bag.

With that out of the way, Maxwell reached down and picked up his lantern, another slow exhale as his gaze slid over the remains of his niece.

With her eyes closed, and that small smile on her face, she nearly looked content. Asleep with the rocks and dark for company, he vaguely thought, and with a shake of his head Maxwell turned away.

He used to be more affected by such things, hadn't he? Earlier tears had threatened his eyes, but only a few had fallen afterwards, not even a sob to escape his throat.

It had been Abigail's right to mourn, after all. Not his.

Maxwell sighed, hand going protectively over the pocket the flower resided in before leaving it be, a shake of his head as he started off, back upstairs to the light.

He shall not keep the sisters separated for longer than necessary. It was the least he could do nowadays.


End file.
